Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  Matthew moved, shifting round to prop his shoulders into the corner and refolding his arms. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and glanced across to Eleanor. She did not look away, but held his stare as his blue eyes darkened and his jaw firmed. He looked away first.

  Desire.

  He felt it, too. That fact gave her an inner confidence she had not imagined before they met. Even her own mother had abandoned her...that pain still ran deep. And Donald...his silken words and treacherous kisses...he had lied without compunction...told her he loved her...and she had believed him because she wanted to, until the truth had smacked her in the face and she could no longer fool herself with the pathetic fantasy of her own making. Being desired by an attractive man like Matthew had salved her inner doubts about her allure as a woman and her self-esteem had blossomed.

  It had not taken her long to become comfortable in his presence. It helped that he no longer teased or flirted. She appreciated his restraint, even though she felt she might now enjoy such banter and might even be able to join in the game without fear of ridicule. Trust. She barely knew him, yet she trusted him, not only to protect her against her unknown enemy but, and more importantly, to protect her against herself. Against her desire and her needs. Last night—if he hadn’t left when he did, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

  Now, she must look to her future. There would be many suitable men in London. She hoped she might meet one who would make her blood sizzle the way Matthew Thomas did. And that he might view her as an alluring woman and not as a walking treasure chest.

  ‘We are almost there,’ Matthew said.

  The view from the window had gradually changed. Where before there had been fields and woods and heaths and pleasant market towns and small hamlets, they now travelled through a maze of busy, dingy streets, the wheels clattering over endless cobbles.

  ‘It will be a relief not to have to travel again tomorrow,’ Aunt Lucy said, stirring and yawning.

  ‘Are you quite well, Aunt? You are very pale.’

  ‘I have the headache, my dear. I shall be quite all right after a lie down.’

  * * *

  At Upper Brook Street, the servants sent on ahead had readied the house, and it was almost like arriving home, with Pacey, Eleanor’s butler, and Mrs Pledger, her housekeeper, at the door to greet them. Matthew supported Aunt Lucy into the hall and then Mrs Pledger and Matilda took over, helping her up the white-marble staircase to settle into her bedchamber.

  Eleanor surveyed the bright, welcoming entrance hall. If the rest of the house was of a similar standard, it would be more than adequate for their stay in London. She was resigned to spending the next few months, at least, in London, whilst Ashby Manor was made habitable.

  Eleanor smiled at Matthew. ‘Would you care for a dish of tea before you leave? Or a glass of wine?’

  ‘Thank you—tea would be most welcome.’

  Pacey showed Eleanor and Matthew into a back parlour, decorated in green and gold.

  ‘Please leave the door open, Pacey, and instruct one of the maids to come and sit in here with us,’ Eleanor said. She would start as she must go on, with a keen regard for her reputation and those vital vouchers for Almack’s. After the butler left, she continued, ‘I might not always seem it, but I am grateful for your help, Mr Thomas. And for your company. You have helped make a long, tedious and what might have been a dangerous journey infinitely better.’

  ‘Have you any idea how soon you will be able to appoint new footmen?’

  ‘No. I am sure Pacey will arrange that. There is bound to be a Register Office nearby.’

  * * *

  ‘Indeed there is, my lady,’ Pacey said when asked upon his return to the parlour. ‘Shall you require me to appoint additional staff?’

  ‘Yes.’ Eleanor told the butler of the happenings on the road.

  ‘Lady Ashby will need two footmen to accompany her whenever she goes out,’ Matthew said. ‘Plus, you must treat the security of this house as of the utmost importance. External doors must be bolted and ground-floor windows latched at all times, no matter the inconvenience.’

  ‘My lady?’

  The butler turned to her for confirmation, allowing Eleanor to accept Matthew’s instructions with more grace than she might otherwise have achieved. ‘Yes, Pacey. It is as Mr Thomas has said.’

  ‘And strong lads, mind. They need to be stout enough to protect her ladyship.’

  ‘With your leave, my lady, I shall visit the Register Office immediately. The sooner we can appoint the extra staff the better, it would seem.’

  Two maids brought in a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches, and one of the maids remained in the room afterwards. A rebellious part of Eleanor regretted her impulse to follow propriety so strictly, but she knew it was the correct thing to do. It forced their conversation on to everyday matters. Eventually, Mr Thomas stood to take his leave. Eleanor rose to her feet, her insides hollowing as she realised she might never see him again.

  ‘I do hope you will call upon us from time to time, to let us know how you go on.’

  He bowed. ‘Of course.’ He reached into his pocket and handed her a sheet of paper upon which he had written an address. ‘If you have need of me, send word.’

  Eleanor took the sheet with suddenly trembling fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice strangling as her throat swelled. To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears and she hurriedly tried to blink them away. This would never do.

  Matthew reached for her hand, and squeezed. He lowered his voice as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  Eleanor hauled in a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I am sorry...so foolish of me. I dare say it’s the journey...so very exhausting.’

  She braved a glance at his face. His blue eyes burned into hers and she could not tear her gaze away.

  ‘Day or night,’ he said, ‘if ever you have doubts, or you are scared, do not hesitate to send for me. I will get to you as soon as I can.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matthew stood in the shadows of King Street, opposite the house where his life had changed for ever. It looked smaller, somehow, and seedier than he remembered. Or was it the enthusiasm of youth that had coloured the place as glamorous and alluring? The sight of excitable young bucks, in twos and threes, swaggering along the street before lifting the knocker and gaining admittance, was profoundly depressing. Nothing changes. Young men...their bravado...seeking thrills...believing themselves up to any and every trick in the book.

  If only they knew...

  Thud...chest about to explode...king of hearts, fluttering to the floor... Henson, accusing, face dark, fists clenched...thud, thud...stammered denial, hands shaking, mouth sucked dry...faces, in and out of vision, disbelieving, sneering...voice hoarse, trying to be heard...needing to be believed...failing...alone...thud, thud, thud...anger, fury boiling over, challenging Henson...challenge accepted...men turning from him...no one willing to stand as second.

  His breath juddered as he hauled it in and he was aware of sweat coating his brow and upper lip. He reached for his handkerchief, and passed it over his face. So real. He had sworn never to return. Why had he come?

  A pair of large, tawny eyes materialised in his mind’s eye. He had handed Eleanor his address as he took his leave of her and, for the first time in days, her outer shell of bravado had cracked. He had glimpsed the frightened girl inside, belying her rejection of his help. He had itched to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears. He would never have that right, but she needed protection and he could not deny that urge deep in his gut, no matter how hard he tried. He must find out who was trying to kill her. It was his duty to keep her safe, even if it meant facing his worst fear.

  When he’d arrived from India, nigh on a month ago now, he would have cut his eyes out rather than start probing this old sore. Henson had been stabbed and robbed that same night, before their duel, snatching away Matthew’s chance to fight for his honour and to clear his name
.

  Dishonourable conduct. He could not allow his scandal to taint Eleanor by association, which it would surely do once his true identity became known. He must—somehow—prove his innocence. A lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he pictured Eleanor’s growing trust of him turn to scorn when she discovered the truth of his exile to India.

  He would gain nothing by going inside the house opposite. All these hells were crooked—in favour of the house, of course—but it was not the house that had falsely accused him of cheating all those years ago, nor the house that had believed him responsible for attacking Henson shortly afterwards. The old resentment curdled his stomach. His own father. His own family. They had believed him capable of both charges. They had washed their hands of him. And now, if he was to protect Eleanor, he would—inevitably—be recognised. Remembered. Accused all over again.

  Henson.

  Where to begin to look? Matthew ran through the names of the men round the table that night—names branded in his memory.

  Henson, both Alastairs—Lady Rothley’s sons, Silverdale, Hartlebury, Perivale.

  He would have to hope some of them were in London for the Season. The older of the two Alastairs, Lucas—now the Marquis of Rothley—was not in town. That was no loss; he and Henson had been thick as thieves. But the younger brother, Hugo...he might be a good place to start.

  He must prove his innocence. Deep in his gut, he believed others around that table must know the accusation to be false. They just hadn’t spoken up against Henson—older, worldly-wise, a man the young bucks admired and wished to emulate. Maybe now, as more mature and, hopefully, responsible adults, they would take the opportunity to clear their consciences.

  Matthew turned abruptly on his heel and strode away.

  * * *

  Three days after their arrival in town, Pacey opened the front door for Eleanor and Matthew was on the doorstep. Rendered temporarily speechless, she was grateful Aunt Lucy took charge.

  ‘Mr Thomas! Why, what a pleasant surprise. How do you do?’

  Matthew removed his hat and bowed, his blond hair glinting in the early afternoon sunlight.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lady Rothley.’ He bowed and then his blue gaze rested on Eleanor’s face and her heart kicked into a gallop. ‘Your servant, Lady Ashby. I am very well, thank you. Have I called at an inconvenient time?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘We are—’

  ‘No,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Your timing is perfect. We are going to call on Eleanor’s cousin, James. Would you care to accompany us?’

  ‘Aunt! I don’t think... I beg your pardon, Mr Thomas, but—’

  ‘I should be honoured,’ Matthew said. ‘Are you planning to walk?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘It is not very far, but it will be pleasant to have a gentleman’s arm to lean on. Come, Ellie. Peter and William can still accompany us.’

  Eleanor straightened her bonnet and sailed past Matthew on to the pavement. She could think of nothing worse than Matthew being present when she and James had their first meeting. Her irritation that James had not even had the courtesy to call on her in the three days since her arrival was bound to reveal itself and she was loath to give Matthew another reason to think ill of her cousin.

  Eleanor winced inwardly at the spectacle they must present: it was bad enough having two burly footmen dogging her footsteps wherever they went but, now, to be seen in the company of... Eleanor looked beyond Aunt Lucy to Mr Thomas, strolling nonchalantly along the pavement, cane swinging. A cane? His blue superfine coat was well tailored, his tall hat set at a jaunty angle and—although he still presented a rugged and slightly dangerous appearance—no one would doubt him a gentleman. Mayhap he was wealthier than she had assumed. But he was still a merchant.

  ‘...and we have spent much of our time shopping and with dressmakers,’ Aunt Lucy was saying. ‘The fire at Ashby destroyed much of Eleanor’s clothing, of course, and it is a long time since I came to London. My dresses are sadly outmoded, I fear.’

  Eleanor smiled to herself, recalling their argument over Aunt Lucy’s need for some new gowns. Suspecting her aunt’s funds were limited, Eleanor had refused to give way and eventually Aunt Lucy had conceded that Eleanor might treat her to a couple of new evening gowns. After all, Eleanor had argued, you are only in London on my behalf. It is right and fair that I should bear your expenses. Pride satisfied, Aunt Lucy had then thrown herself with enthusiasm into their shopping expeditions.

  ‘What had your cousin to say about the carriage accident and the attack on that girl?’ Matthew asked as they turned into Hill Street, where James and Ruth lived.

  Trust him to settle upon the one topic she had hoped would not arise. Anger at James for not visiting her battled against her anxiety at seeing him again.

  ‘We have not yet spoken,’ she replied.

  ‘Very discourteous of him,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Both Eleanor and I are disappointed by his neglect of his familial duty. It’s been three days since our arrival and not even a note from him to enquire if the house is satisfactory.’

  ‘I am sure he has good reason, Aunt.’ Why she felt obliged to defend James, she did not know, when in reality she thought his conduct indefensible. She glanced behind, reassured by the stoical presence of William and one of the new footmen, Peter.

  ‘No doubt his guilty conscience,’ Matthew said.

  Eleanor glared at him. ‘Mayhap you should not come inside with us, if you are determined to stir the coals. James is hardly likely to attack me in his own house. Even if he is guilty.’

  ‘Please do not desert us now, Mr Thomas. I feel so much safer with you here. I begged Ellie not to call upon James unannounced like this, but she would not listen to me.’

  ‘Why did you not just send him a note and ask him to call on you?’ Matthew said. ‘Then you would meet him on your territory.’

  ‘I cannot sit at home on tenterhooks waiting and wondering when he might appear. Surely that is understandable?’

  ‘I understand you are impatient, Eleanor. Just like your mama.’

  Eleanor stiffened. Just like her mama. That was exactly what no one must think any more. Apprehension had churned her stomach on and off all day, for tonight marked the beginning of her assault on society, at the Barringtons’ ball. Aunt Lucy had been busy leaving cards with her old acquaintances and the invitations had started to trickle in.

  Their new gowns had been delivered that morning and Eleanor was both looking forward to and dreading the moment she must enter the Barringtons’ house and find all those eyes upon her. This time, however, she would not allow the whispers and innuendoes to overset her. She would hold her head high and prove she was not like her mother. At least visiting James gave her something else to worry about.

  Aunt Lucy grabbed Eleanor’s hand. ‘I am sorry, Ellie. I don’t know why I said that. I dare say I am nervous at the thought of facing James and what to say to him. I know you are nothing like my silly, selfish sister.’ She halted outside a tall, narrow house. ‘Look, isn’t this James’s house?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, her stomach beginning to churn. ‘This is it.’

  She inhaled deeply to settle her nerves as Matthew rapped on the door.

  ‘Mr Thomas, I know I do not have to say this, but please do not say anything to provoke James.’

  ‘Me? Provoke?’ Matthew’s brows shot up.

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Of course, you would never dream of such behaviour, would you?’

  For a long time there was no sound from within but, just as Matthew lifted the brass knocker to rap again, the door opened.

  Eleanor stepped forward. ‘Be so good as to inform Mr Weare that his cousin, Lady Ashby, is here and begs a few moments of his time.’

  The footman stared at her with a doubtful expression and then stood aside. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Ashby. I shall inform the master you are here. If you would care to follow me?’

  They entered a dim hallway that, despite the good address and smart
external appearance of the house, showed signs of wear and neglect. The house smelled in need of a good dose of fresh air, to blast away the stale cooking odours. The footman led them into a small reception room—equally musty and shabby, with heavy, dusty-looking dark green curtains framing the dirty glass of the window. Eleanor stripped off her gloves to await her cousin, trying to conceal her increasing unease.

  Within a few short minutes, the door flew open and James appeared. Eleanor went to him, her hands held out in greeting, smiling, genuinely pleased to see him again. One look into those clear grey eyes banished many of her doubts. This was James—her beloved cousin, her childhood playmate.

  ‘James, my dearest cousin, it has been much, much too long. Do please forgive us for calling unannounced, but I could not wait to see you. I do hope we are not putting you out?’ She looked him up and down, then added, teasingly, ‘You look very well, Cousin, but it seems you might have gained one or two pounds since last I saw you. You remember my aunt, Lady Rothley, do you not?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ James responded, with a brief bow in Aunt Lucy’s direction. ‘How do you do, Lady Rothley?’

  ‘And this is Mr Thomas.’ Eleanor sent Matthew a warning look, which he returned with an innocent lift of his brows. How should she explain his presence? ‘He kindly escorted us here.’

  ‘In addition to the two footmen loitering in my hall?’ James asked, but nevertheless shook Matthew’s hand. ‘You are looking very well, Eleanor,’ he continued, ‘but you should have informed me of your arrival. I would have called upon you.’

  Eleanor frowned, puzzled by his manner. As James entered the room his surprise had been palpable, but there had been no sign of pleasure, and his greeting—although polite—held no warmth. Neither had he reassured her that they were welcome. Indeed, his words held more of a scold than a greeting. There was something about his manner—an edginess—she could not understand. Her doubts began to stir again.